


The Other Minister

by MrProphet



Category: Yes Prime Minister
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 04:19:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10689618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrProphet/pseuds/MrProphet





	The Other Minister

The Right Honourable Mr James Hacker, Prime Minister of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, closed the last folder with a sigh. “Well, Bernard’ I shall hope never to have a day like that again. Meeting the staff, meeting the Cabinet… I mean I know all of the Cabinet already and now half of them hate me and I’ll probably have to replace two-thirds of them before the next general election, so why do I need to shake hands and say I look forward to working with them?”

“Tradition, Prime Minister,” Bernard Woolley replied.

“I just hope that tomorrow will be quieter.”

“Perhaps… not, Minister,” Bernard cautioned.

“Why not? I’ve met the Cabinet and the household staff and the gardening staff. What am I doing tomorrow that will keep me so busy? Meeting the milkman?”

“Running the country.”

“Oh yes.” Jim chuckled. “I’ve spent so long shaking hands and asking what people do that I’m starting to feel like a market researcher.”

“Or the Queen.”

“Well, one step at a time, Bernard. Anyway, if that’s all I’ll slip away before Sir Humphrey thinks of something else for me to do. Say hello to the night-watchmen or feed the guard dogs.”

Bernard looked shocked. “You can’t do that, Prime Minister; union rules.”

“The dogs have a union?”

“No, Prime Minister; the handlers. But there is one more entry in the diary.”

“Oh dear, is there? Why didn’t you say before?”

“Well… I’m sure it wasn’t there before.”

“What is it then?”

“X, Prime Minister.”

“Eggs? A deputation of poultry farmers?”

“No, Prime Minister.” Bernard looked unusually flustered. “Just… a letter X.”

“Well, what does that mean?”

“I don’t know exactly,” Bernard admitted. “My predecessor said if I saw an X in the diary I should clear all other appointments and call Sir Humphrey at once.”

“Oh, God,” Jim groaned. “Probably another intelligence briefing. Go on then; call Humphrey. Let’s get it over with.”

“Yes, Prime Minister.” Bernard picked up the phone. “Ah, Sir Humphrey; the Prime Minister needs to speak with you.” 

There was a pause.

“No, tonight really.”

Pause.

“I understand that, but it does seem to be terribly urgent.”

Pause.

“A matter of X.”

Pause.

“No, the letter X. I…” Bernard looked startled. “He hung up.”

“It seems most unlike Humphrey to…” Jim broke off as the doors to his private office burst open and Sir Humphrey Appleby stumbled in.

“Red or blue?” he gasped.

“I beg your pardon?”

“The X, Prime Minister; red or blue?”

“They’re usually brown and speckled,” Jim replied.

“The X, sir, not the eggs. It’s blue.”

Humphrey breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, thank heaven for small mercies. They probably just want to meet you, Prime Minister.”

“They? Who are they to be putting Xs in my diary?”

“All in good time, Prime Minister.” Sir Humphrey unlocked a cabinet on the wall of the office and took out a small, leather case. “If you’ll come with me.”

“To where?” Jim demanded.

“The Room of Many Doors, Prime Minister. More than that, I can not say.”

“Oh,” Jim realised. “More secrets.”

“No, Prime Minister,” Humphrey said sternly. “This isn’t a secret. This you must tell to  _no-one_.”

“Gosh.”

Sir Humphrey led the Prime Minister and his private secretary up a narrow, winding staircase concealed behind the bookcase in the private office. At the top, he ushered them through a small, wooden door into an octagonal room, decorated with portraits of former Prime Ministers. A small table stood in the centre of the room, with three chairs facing the door and three with their backs to it.

“Please, take a seat, Prime Minister,” Sir Humphrey said.

“Humphrey; this Room of Many Doors…”

“Yes, Prime Minister.”

“It appears to have only one door.”

“Yes, Prime Minister.”

Jim frowned. “Oh. Well… just checking.” He sat in the middle chair of the nearest set, with Sir Humphrey and Bernard flanking him.

Sir Humphrey opened the leather case and took out a small bottle of heavy, leaded glass and a jewelled goblet. He poured a small measure of dark wine into the goblet and passed it to Jim. “One sip, Prime Minister,” he cautioned, “then place the goblet on the table.”

Jim did as he was instructed, and as the goblet touched the table there was a  _whoosh_ , and Jim was staring at a door in the opposite wall.

“Where did that come from,” he had time to ask, before there was another  _whoosh_ , and now the portraits had changed. Half were as they were, but the other half now showed long-bearded men in robes; and they were  _moving_. 

It took another moment to realise that the three robed men sitting opposite really were sitting opposite, and were not simply more of these ambulatory portraits.

Humphrey stood up. “Prime Minister, may I introduce the Honourable Mr Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic.”

Jim gaped openly. “Magic?” he gasped.

“Yes, Prime Minister.”


End file.
